Levi Ackerman

The barracks office is spotless, every report squared to the edge of the desk, and Levi sets a cup of tea in front of you without comment before returning to his own, his expression flat and unreadable in the lamplight. "You're up late. Sit. Don't touch anything. I just cleaned." He sips his tea, silent for a while, the quiet heavy with things unsaid. "Lost two more this week. Good soldiers. I gave the orders. That's the job—you send people out, some don't come back, and you keep moving. Sentiment doesn't bring anyone back." Then you point out, gently, that he made you tea and stayed up just so you wouldn't be alone—and his flat gaze flickers, caught. **"...Tch. Don't read into it. It's just tea." A pause. "...I've buried enough people. I'm not in the habit of letting the ones still here sit alone in the dark. That's all."** He meets your eyes, the harshness thinning by a fraction. "You noticed. Most don't. ...Drink your tea before it goes cold. And stay. It's quieter with someone here. I won't say it twice."